


Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, schlaf' ein

by itzteegan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Anders misses his mom, Angst, Circle Tower (Dragon Age), Circle of Magi, Confinement, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Sad, Whump, Young Anders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26110660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzteegan/pseuds/itzteegan
Summary: After he was taken to the Circle with naught but a pillow, Anders can't help but mourn the life he lost and the mother he left behind.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, schlaf' ein

**Author's Note:**

> I finally finished this today and figured why not post it. I am currently running on four red bulls, depression, and pure spite. Words don't even look right anymore.
> 
> Also, um, huge thanks to the artist mago_emplumado whose drawings of Anders - especially of young Anders fresh in the Circle - kinda inspired this fic, more or less. Go check them out and give them some love!

His sniffles echoed off the stone walls, carrying a little further than he intended, though he didn't care. No one else truly seemed to care for him, so why should he return the favour? Shuddering, he pulled his knees to his chest, burying his face into the embroidered pillow he carried, the only thing he'd been allowed to keep from his former life. His mother had made it for him, lovingly stitched out the pattern by fire light as he'd watched, then stuffed and given it to him on his name day. He'd slept with it every night since, and when he'd been taken by the Templars, he'd clutched it to his chest as if it was the only thing keeping him alive. Mercifully, the lead Templar who'd escorted him to the Circle Tower hadn't seen fit to take it, and when the Knight-Commander mentioned it, the First Enchanter had advised, _"Let him keep him it, it's just a pillow."_

But it wasn't just a pillow, it was made by his mother. The only thing he now kept that indicated he'd had a life outside of the Circle. A life full of laughter and love and friends and fun. After the incident with the barn - _it was an accident, he swore it was_ \- his mother had been the only one to stand by him and support him. Some of the other kids were leery of him, even his own father grew distant and fearful, but his mother still hugged him close and kissed him on the forehead and assured him that everything was fine, that everything would be fine.

She was wrong.

His father, _his own father,_ had told the Templars about him. He remembered well, looking out the front window and seeing him talking to them. His stomach had twisted in his gut, heart racing as he saw him look back toward the house, their eyes meeting for the barest moment before he looked away. Was it shame? Fear? The Templars followed his gaze and he'd stumbled backward, breaths coming faster than he could scarcely manage. No, no! They would take him away, lock him up, he'd never see his family and friends again. Turning quickly, he ran into his mother, and looking up he burst into tears. She mirrored his own action, her sobs quieter than his as she pulled him into her arms. _"Oh Liebchen,"_ she'd murmured, _"stay strong for me. You can do that, yes?"_

But he didn't want to be strong, he wanted to go home. This tower was strange and cold and was nothing like a home despite a fumbling attempt at the trappings. A nice enough bed and thick blankets couldn't replace his cot, covered in a quilt handmade by his mother's grandmother and passed down through the family. Likewise, while the food smelled alright, he'd barely touched it, much preferring more familiar, tastier comforts. It wasn't the same, wouldn't ever be the same, and he wanted nothing more than to leave and never return. His toes were cold and his rear end felt tingly and numb for the time he'd spent on the hard, stone floor, but he didn't care. If he scrunched the pillow to his face, he could still smell her, smell _home_ , and that was all he wanted. Eventually he knew it would fade away until there was nothing left to smell but what had seeped into it once it arrived at the Circle, already he could smell less than he could before. But it wasn't gone, not yet, and he clung to what he could.

The other kids gave him space, simply observing him, feeling him out. Some were younger than he was, but most were older, and he felt intimidated by all their stares. The friends he'd had, he'd grown up with them, he'd never been the _new kid_ and this was just one more new aspect of this life that he was forced to get used to. Of course, even if he'd been in a mood to make new friends, he barely had the time. His life as an apprentice was busy, purposefully so it seemed, with endless lectures and studying that made his head ache. He knew how to read and write, thankfully, his parents had seen to that at least. Not all of the kids came with that luxury, though he would have gladly traded it for his freedom, a wish that tightened in his chest and made him scrunch into an even smaller ball.

Everything, all at once, it was overwhelming. Not having friends to play with, not having his home to run to, his mother to comfort him, he missed even the little things, like the grass and dirt under his feet and the wind in his face. In a moment, everything familiar had been snatched away. He didn't like to think about it much, but in the dead of night as he cried in a remote corner of the tower, he couldn't help the memory that came unbidden to him.

The harsh smack of the door as it opened, the way his mother stiffened as she held him. _"Please, don't take him, my only child!"_ she'd begged, but it had been all for naught. One of them had harshly grabbed his shoulder and pulled them apart, despite the way they clung to each other. She'd only had a chance to press the pillow into his arms as he was manhandled out the door, and even as she went to follow, his father caught her, murmuring something low in her ear. What did he tell her? That it was for the best? That it was what they were supposed to do? That he was dangerous and not the son she once knew? Did she believe him? He wanted to believe she didn't, by virtue of the fresh tears that spilled over her cheeks, by the way she called out to him, her voice twisted and cracked in pain, by the way she slapped against his father's chest, yelling, _"How could you?"_ But, of course, in time ... who knew. Maybe she would come to accept it, maybe she would move on. Did she cry for him like he did for her? Even if she did, at least she had a husband to dry her tears, friends to lean on as she mourned.

He had no one.

There was a lecture in the morning, that he well knew, but he cared not. He barely paid attention anyway, simply daydreaming the time away. It was about all he had now, aside from his pillow, and he clung to both in equal measure. The Templars would not take that away from him. If he had to fight tooth and nail to keep them, he would, as they were most precious. The only thing more so was the one thing he could not have: his freedom.

The low creak of the door and the soft footfalls didn't even register as he cried out his grief, his pain. It was only when the person who'd found him spoke that he even looked up to see First Enchanter Irving. "And what are you doing here, Young Ander?" Sniffling, he made no attempt to hide his tears, and at seeing the state he was in, the older mage's expression softened. "Ah, still adjusting, I see?"

_And why do you care?_ the young mage wondered as the First Enchanter moved to sit next to him, grunting and grimacing a little as his old bones adjusted to the uncomfortable position. Try as the older mage might, he would never grant him what he really wanted, what he really desired. The comforts and the platitudes he offered as he settled a hand on the boy's shoulder did nothing when the situation would not change. _You would keep me here as much as the Templars,_ he thought bitterly, his lip quivering in frustration just as much as grief.

"You know, the Templars who brought you in never told us ... what is your name?"

The boy shook his head, speaking only a few, curt words in Ander. _After all they have taken from me, they do not deserve to know even my name._

Irving chuckled. "You understand us, I know you do. In time, perhaps, you'll trust us enough to speak to us. Until then I suppose I'll just call you Anders, is that alright?"

In truth, he could have called him anything he would have liked and there would be no protest. His life before, his family, even his name, it held meaning to him and him alone, and he suddenly didn't want anyone to know. Life in the Circle was devoid of true privacy, but this ... this small thing he could keep for himself. And if he was forced to forge a new life for himself here, then why not a new name to go along with it?

Anders. It was as good as any.

Newly christened, he allowed Irving to guide him back to his bed, the dormitory still hushed and silent as the rest of the apprentices slept on. As he settled down once more, tears pricked his eyes, as despite the fact that he was surrounded by others, he felt even more alone than when he'd found that quiet corner earlier. Pulling his pillow to his face to muffle the few sobs that pitifully whimpered out of him, his mother's scent carried over once more, and for a moment - if only a moment - he swore he could feel her fingers ruffle his hair and hear her soft voice singing ...

_Was wird da künftig erst sein?_

_Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, schlaf' ein ..._

**Author's Note:**

> Translation (from a German lullaby):
> 
> _But what will the future bring?  
>  Sleep, my little prince, sleep ..._


End file.
